


Red Riding Hoodie and the Big Bad Wolf

by i-can-do-badass-all-by-myself (badassfreckles)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Dancing, Drunk Werewolves, Everyone Is Alive, Halloween Costumes, Hopefully kinda steamy too?, Kinda Fluffy, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Quidditch Pong, Recreational Drug Use, Stiles would be a Slytherin, but a good one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-11 01:44:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16466321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badassfreckles/pseuds/i-can-do-badass-all-by-myself
Summary: Derek meets Stiles at Scott's Halloween party.





	Red Riding Hoodie and the Big Bad Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first piece of fanfiction and I'm hoping it's not terrible. This was supposed to be the meet-cute at the beginning of a longer story I started last year, but that story got a lot darker and this didn't really fit anymore. I came back to it recently and still liked it, so I decided to dust it off a bit and post it on its own. I have never played Quidditch Pong but I've always wanted to, so if I've got it wrong, please let me know. Happy Halloween!

Scott’s annual Halloween party was in full swing by the time Derek arrived. After he refused to wear a costume, Laura had talked Boyd and Erica into doing a group costume with her. They had arrived earlier for the official costume contest, and Laura had already texted Derek a cryptic warning to behave himself when he saw Cora's costume. Derek chose not to dwell on the implications of the message as he navigated towards the kitchen, determined to start the evening off with a drink. 

Scott’s parties were always the best for werewolves and other supernatural beings because he always served special homemade alcohol. He had different types of wolfsbane-infused wine, beer, and liquor, all of which tasted better and were far more potent than the store-bought crap. Best of all, the alcohol didn’t leave the weres feeling hungover from the wolfsbane. Derek had asked about his source before, knowing his uncle Peter might be interested in incorporating whatever the secret was into his microbrewery business, but Scott was surprisingly tight-lipped about his supplier. When pressed, Scott confessed he knew a Spark, but his friend had been pulled out of school when his power manifested and now attended Eichen House, the government-run academy for the magically-gifted. His education didn’t end after a set number of years, like high school, but when the Head Master determined he had full control of his powers and did not present a danger to the public. 

Scott had stayed in touch but his friend was not afforded much free time outside the school. He had, however, discovered a knack for creating enhanced alcohol in small batches with his free time inside the school, so he pursued that as a hobby and supplied to his classmates and to Scott. Scott had also revealed that the alcohol was imbued with special properties that were not as obvious as the taste and potency. The alcohol itself was tamper-proof and wouldn’t absorb roofies or other toxins someone might mix with it, and the magic subtly discouraged drinkers from overindulging, so no one ever blacked out, got sick, or even got in fights at Scott’s parties. He refused to talk more about his mysterious friend but he had promised to introduce him to Derek once the Spark completed his program at Eichen House.

Since it was Halloween, Scott’s house was even more crowded than usual and difficult to maneuver through, but most people got out of the way of Derek’s scowl. He found Lydia, dressed as the Queen of Hearts with her fiery hair piled in a mess under a crown, rifling through the alcohol with a shirtless Jackson.

“And what, exactly, are you supposed to be?” she demanded when she spotted Derek.

He glanced down at his clothes – a blue Henley and dark jeans, standard for him – and shrugged. “A werewolf?”

Lydia gave a dramatic sigh as she pulled a tray of Jello shots out of the fridge. “Unacceptable, Der. Your sister’s group won the costume contest." 

"Which sister?" Derek asked. "I've been warned to _behave_ when I see what Cora's wearing."

Lydia snorted derisively. "I meant Laura. Those trophy costumes were amazing. But you!” She tsked. “You’re not even trying. I’m disappointed.”

“In me? At least I’m wearing clothes,” Derek grumbled, glowering at Jackson’s bare chest. “What’s your boytoy supposed to be, a Chippendale dancer?”

Jackson smirked and pointed to his top hat. “I’m the Mad Hatter. Obviously.”

“Oh yes, _obviously_. Guyliner and a top hat – how did I ever miss it?” Derek arched a disbelieving eyebrow at Jackson. “Be honest – you just wanted to show off.”

Jackson shrugged and leaned back against the counter, stretching his torso and drawing Derek’s eye down his chiseled chest and abs. “Why not? Don’t act like you’re not enjoying the view, Hale.”

“No complaints here, but you’re not really my type,” Derek laughed.

“Please,” Jackson crooned with a smug smile. “I’m everyone’s type.” 

Behind Derek, someone cackled with delight and Jackson’s expression darkened as he glanced at the newcomer. Derek turned back to see a stranger in a red hoodie just inside the doorway, bent forward and shoulders shaking with laughter. He stepped further into the room, brown eyes twinkling with mirth, and slapped Derek’s shoulder amicably. “You keep telling yourself that, Jackson. Even the guy without a costume is throwing shade.”

“Like you’ve got room to talk,” Jackson shot back. “You showed up to a party full of _weres_ dressed as who again? Little Red Riding Hoodie? You’re a walking cliché.”

The guy grinned and leaned towards Derek with a conspiratorial wink. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll find a big, bad wolf that wants to eat me tonight.”

Despite the cheesiness of the come on, Derek couldn’t completely ignore the flash of heat the suggestion sent through him. This guy was tall and lean, exactly Derek’s type. He was tempted to flash his eyes but didn’t want to give the stranger the satisfaction, scowling instead as Lydia groaned. “That was terrible, Stiles. Don’t be rude. You haven’t even been introduced.”

The man immediately thrust his hand towards Derek. “Hi, I’m Stiles.”

Derek regarded his hand warily for a moment, then grasped it in a quick shake. “Derek.”

Stiles’ eyes widened so fast it was nearly comical. “Ohhhh, so you’re Derek. Scott’s told me about you.”

Derek’s forehead wrinkled with confusion, but before he could ask what Scott had said, Laura burst into the kitchen wearing one of their mother’s old tennis skorts and covered head to toe in gold paint, chanting, “Shots! Shots! Shots!” She was followed closely by Erica and Boyd who were similarly gilded but dressed for different sports. Erica wore an old volleyball jersey, complete with kneepads and spandex shorts, but Boyd beat her out for shamelessness in his old wrestling unitard.

Stiles whooped and helped Lydia distribute a round of Jello shots as Derek looked around in confusion. “Shots? I just want a beer.”

“Nuh uh,” Laura said, hooking an arm around his waist. “You’re here to party and it’s Halloween. You may not be in costume but you’re gonna loosen up and celebrate with us. Look! We won!” She thrust a paper plate decorated with an alarming amount of glitter and streamers at his face. “Besides, it’s Scott’s special liquor. It’s not like you’re gonna have a hangover in the morning.”

Derek looped his arm around his twin’s shoulder and pulled her closer against his side with an affectionate squeeze. “Congrats, sis.” He accepted a red Jello shot from Stiles and his stomach fluttered as their fingers brushed in the exchange. He ignored the man’s knowing grin and turned back to the larger group, raising his plastic shot glass in a toast. “If we’re doing this, here’s to the costume contest winners! Laura, Erica, Boyd!”

His friends cheered and tossed back their shots, collectively grimacing at the almost medicinal taste of the vodka and cherry Jello mix. Despite the taste, they had two more rounds, toasting first to Halloween and then to Scott’s parties, before Derek’s friends finally allowed him to have a beer. He wasn’t a heavy drinker so it didn’t take long for the alcohol ( _and magic_ , he kept reminding himself) to leave him feeling pleasantly buzzed and relaxed. By the time Cora and Isaac wandered through, he didn’t feel the need to make any comments about his little sister’s Brittany Spears-inspired schoolgirl costume. He just gave her a Big Brother Look (patent pending) and followed Laura out to the back patio. They found Scott dressed in blue scrubs smoking a joint with a guy in a firefighter costume named Jordan who turned out to be in one of Laura’s criminology classes.

Derek and Laura had never been the kind of twins that were glued at the hip and everyone swore were psychic, but they were still close. It didn’t take him long to pick-up on his sister’s interest in her classmate, and for all of Scott’s oblivious stoner vibe, he could be perceptive as well. Once the joint was cashed, Scott stood and caught Derek’s eye.

“Hey Derek, I’ve got a friend here tonight that I think you might like to meet.” He nodded toward the house. “Want to see if we can find him?”

Derek nodded to Laura and Jordan as he followed Scott inside, more than happy to give them a little bit of privacy. Despite the magic alcohol Scott supplied, the party was much noisier inside than it had been on the patio. Derek trailed Scott through the kitchen, each of them grabbing another beer from one of the coolers as they passed, and into the dining room. All the chairs had been pushed to the edges of the room to make space for people to play beer pong. At least, Derek assumed that had been the original intention because the game currently being played looked nothing like the beer pong he was used to. There were three diving rings on poles dividing the table and some players held miniature bats. The nearer side had red Solo cups in the traditional triangle and the far side had green, plus an extra yellow cup on each side set apart of the others. Derek was surprised to see Stiles playing with the green team, the sleeves of his red hoodie pushed up to his elbows, and he was even more surprised when he called both their names.

“Scott! Derek! Come watch me kick some Gryffindor ass!”

Scott shot Derek a curious look as they skirted the extra chairs to stand near Stiles and his teammates. “You know Stiles?”

“No really,” Derek said, shaking his head. “We met earlier tonight in the kitchen.”

Stiles laughed as they reached him and slung his arms over their shoulders. “Don’t let him fool you, Scotty. We mocked Jackson and bonded over Jello shots. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” His arm was a pleasant line of warmth across Derek’s shoulders and his exuberance was just so damn contagious. Derek couldn’t completely suppress the urge to smile back, settling for an arched eyebrow and quirked lips.

Scott stared back and forth between them, as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, then turned his gaze to his fresh beer, grumbling into the neck as he took a sip. “I am way too sober for this shit.”

Stiles released his hold on them both and snagged Scott’s bottle, ignoring his friend’s squawk of protest. He exhaled against the glass and dragged his finger through the condensation. As he handed it back, the shape he’d drawn glowed, some sort of rune flaring to life for just a moment then fading away. “That should double the effect of the alcohol.”

Derek raised his eyebrows in surprise, while Scott frowned at the bottle for a moment before shrugging. “Thanks, man.”

“Sure thing, bro.” Stiles beamed at Scott for a heartbeat, then glanced at Derek and deliberately ran his tongue across his bottom lip, gesturing to Derek’s bottle. “Want me to do you?”

Derek arched an eyebrow at the innuendo and handed his bottle over to Stiles. “So I take it you’re Scott’s secret supplier.”

Stiles kept his eyes locked on Derek’s as he raised the bottle to his lips and exhaled on the glass with a soft sigh. The movement was nearly obscene, far more seductive than when he had done it for Scott, but his eyes glittered with something more than innuendo. There was something powerful, even dangerous, underneath Stiles’ manic energy and aggressive flirtation, and somehow that was the very thing Derek found most enticing about him.

“That a problem?” Stiles asked as he wrapped his long fingers around the bottle neck and drew a rune through the moisture left behind by his breath. 

“You’re not what I expected,” Derek answered honestly, accepting his drink back and taking a swig. “But no, it’s definitely not a problem. Impressive, even. Marketable, too.”

“Oh that’s right. Scott mentioned you have some family the alcohol industry, had some kind of ‘artisan microbrewery’ idea.” Derek could practically hear the air quotes as Stiles rolled his eyes. They turned back to the game and Stiles cheered as someone from his team, dressed as Mario, lobbed a ping pong ball through one of the rings where it bounced on the table and landed squarely in one of the remaining cups. He high-fived Mario and shouted, “Go Slytherin!”

About half the cups from each team had been drunk by this point and it was the red team’s turn again. As they watched, a red player in a pink dress with a buzzed head tossed three ping pong balls and sank two of them in the remaining green cups. The red team (Gryffindor, Derek gathered) clapped and celebrated as a girl dressed as Wonder Woman from the green team (Slytherin, apparently) fished the balls out of the cups and chugged the contents, then gestured at Stiles. “Your turn.”

“I’ve never seen this version of beer pong, “Derek confessed to Scott as Stiles stepped up to the table and studied it was a serious expression. “What is it?”

“Quidditch pong.” At Derek’s blank expression, Scott laughed. “Like the broomstick game from Harry Potter?”

Derek shook his head. He had seen a couple of the movies with Cora when she was younger but had never gotten into the series himself. He found it confusing that magic in the fictional wizarding world never seemed to function like real life magic. Most mages he knew didn’t use wands or wear robes. Terms like witch and wizard were considered unspecific and antiquated at best, offensive at worst, and the existence of magic wasn’t a secret guarded from the rest of the world.

“Not a fan?” Scott guessed. “Don’t tell Stiles. He loves those books. They got him through some tough times when we were younger. He might never forgive you.”

“He didn’t seem pleased with the suggestion he market this alcohol.” Which was really a shame, since Derek could feel the extra punch of Stiles’ enhancement with every sip he took.

“Nah, he’s not mad.” Scott jostled Derek’s elbow in reassurance. “We’ve been friends a long time. If he’s really pissed at you, you’ll know it. We had a fight once in seventh grade, not long before his mom died. I can’t even remember what it was about, but he punched me square in the face and then didn’t acknowledge me for a week. It was the worst week of my life. Well, until . . .” Scott trailed off and shook his head. “Anyhow, don’t sweat it.” Derek caught a whiff of Scott’s sadness and anger and wanted to find out more, but he was distracted by Stiles.

“Sorry folks, but I think it’s about time to wrap this round up,” he proclaimed to the room at large, then winked at Derek. “Especially now that my own personal _Felix Felicis_ has arrived.”

“That’s a good luck potion from the series,” Scott helpfully whispered to Derek as Stiles took aim. “In case he was being too subtle, he was talking about you.”

Derek was surprised to feel himself blush but didn’t bother denying it. He certainly wasn’t opposed to being Stiles’ good luck charm. As they watched, Stiles tossed the ping pong ball through the lowest ring before it bounced neatly into the yellow cup. Stiles whooped and his teammates went wild, yelling about a snitch and chanting “Slytherin! Slytherin!” as the other team divvied up the rest of the cups and chugged them all down. 

Stiles disappeared into celebratory group hugs, and Scott turned to squeeze Derek’s shoulder with a crooked smile. “He’s my best friend, the brother I never had, and more special than you can imagine. Don’t be stupid, ok?” Derek nodded, watching over Scott’s shoulder as Stiles squeezed out of the group and wrapped Scott in a bear hug from behind. They tussled for a moment, both laughing like loons, then Scott tossed Derek a nod and wandered off towards the main living room.

Stiles stepped closer, subtly invading Derek’s personal space, and tilted his head down to peek up at Derek through his lashes, despite being nearly the same height. “Guess you really are my _Felix Felicis_.”

“Guess so,” Derek said, draining the last of his enhanced beer and setting it down on one of the extra chairs. He had not expected much out of the evening, but the weed and beer had him feeling pleasantly mellow and Stiles . . . Stiles had him feeling like the air before a thunder storm, charged and saturated with potential. He did not mind the direction this Halloween seemed to be taking one bit. He stepped forward, even closer to Stiles, and listened to the way his heart beat picked up slightly at the proximity. “What prize do you get for winning?”

Stiles’ coy smirk turned wicked. He reached out and pressed one palm flat against Derek’s chest but took a step back, putting space between them again. “Hmmm, all this quidditch has got me kind of thirsty. Why don’t you go grab me another drink? I think there’s some cider in the fridge. Then come meet me in the basement.”

“What’s in the basement?” Derek asked, his confusion written on his face. He had been so sure they were both feeling this heat, this spark, and were heading towards a moment, a kiss, something, but now it seemed like Stiles was pulling back.

Stiles seemed to sense his confusion and grasped Derek’s arm just below the elbow to give him a reassuring squeeze. He slid his fingers down Derek’s arm, caressing the sensitive pulse-point on his wrist as he smiled at Derek through his lashes. “Guess you’ll just have to come find out.” Derek shivered and sucked in a sharp breath, his nose filling with the scent of Stiles’ desire even as he drew back and headed through the door into the living room. Derek stared after him for a moment, his wolf whimpering with want, then spun the other way and hurried back to the kitchen.

Sure enough, he found a dozen bottles with handwritten labels reading CIDER in barely legible Sharpie tucked in the back of the refrigerator. He grabbed one for Stiles and then scrounged through the assorted coolers to locate a bottle of water for himself, draining the bottle and tossing it into the recycling bin Scott helpfully provided. He hoped he would be heading home soon, preferably not alone, and wanted to be clear headed. He had walked the short distance from the apartment he shared with Laura to Scott’s place in anticipation of drinking, so at least he didn’t have to worry about his car, but Scott’s weed coupled with Stiles’ magic-enhanced beer was hitting him hard and fast. Even with werewolf metabolism, it seemed like a good idea to lay off the booze and drugs.

It took him a few minutes of wandering through the crowded first floor to find the stairs leading down to the basement. He’d been able to hear the music reverberating through the house since he’d arrived, but he hadn’t sought to pinpoint exactly where in the house it was coming from. Once he opened the door to the stairs, however, he was hit with a wave of sound, heavy but not overwhelming. The music had a bluesy rock feel to it, which he appreciated. Pop and electronic dance music could be hard on sensitive wolf hearing. Listening closer as he started down the stairs, Derek realized he could hear the soft pop-hiss of a record player.

Half way down the stairs, the air grew warmer and Derek caught his first good whiff of the room below. His nose was flooded with pheromones, the scents of sweat and desire so thick he felt drunk on it, far more intoxicated than could be attributed to the alcohol and weed. He almost missed the last step and all but stumbled into the basement, his senses so overwhelmed it took a moment for him to take in the basement itself.

The overhead lights were off and someone (Scott?) had strung up blinking Christmas lights around the edge of the room and crisscrossing the ceiling at random intervals with an old Disco ball hanging in the center. The wall opposite the stairs had a large entertainment center with a record player and oversized speakers, as well as shelves filled with dozens of records. A couple couches and end tables had been pushed against the other two walls to create a dance floor in the center of the room, which was just as packed as the rest of the party. Derek estimated more than two dozen people were packed together in the small space, based on the scents he was picking up, shifting and sweating and grinding together to the beat and bass.

Even saturated in sound and scent, Derek had no difficulty spotting Stiles near the record player, swaying to the beat. He had stripped off his red hoodie, probably left it draped on one of the chairs, and was left in a plain white t-shirt underneath. Derek was surprised to see his arms were fully tattooed, every inch of skin from his wrists to his sleeves covered in ink, and he could just glimpse the edges of two more peeking out from beneath the collar of Stiles’ t-shirt. He assumed Stiles was around nineteen or twenty like Scott, and that was a lot of ink to get done in just a year or two, but Derek couldn’t deny he had a little bit of a thing for tattoos. Maybe Stiles was older than he originally thought. Derek only had one tattoo of his own, a large triskele on his back in homage to his pack’s symbol that he had gotten when he first turned eighteen, but tattooing a werewolf was a much more intense and painful process than tattooing a human because of the healing factor. There were blowtorches involved. Derek did plan to get more work done eventually, but he was in no rush to repeat the experience just yet.

The room fell quiet for a breath as the song changed and Derek realized he had been standing in the doorway, staring at Stiles’ back. Before he could start moving, however, a dark-haired man with no shirt and glowing body paint dancing near Stiles pressed in close behind and settled his hands on Stiles’ hips, matching the rhythm of their bodies together. Derek saw Stiles glance over his shoulder and smile at the stranger and his wolf went wild, snarling with unexpected rage at the sight of someone else touching Stiles, at Stiles responding to the attention.

Derek started across the room, the cider still clutched in his hand, wrestling internally against his wolf’s possessive instincts. Stile was not property, his or anyone else’s, and he was free to dance and flirt however he liked, no matter how Derek’s inner beast felt to the contrary. That did not mean that Derek intended to just stand back and watch someone else try to step in. If Stiles went home with someone else, it wouldn’t be for lack of effort on Derek’s part.

As Derek made his way around the crowd, he watched helplessly as the dark-haired man pressed closer to Stiles’ back and Stiles rotated to face the man. He didn’t see Derek as he leaned in towards the other man’s ear, and Derek couldn’t hear what Stiles said, but the stranger glanced up at Stiles’ words and paled at the sight of Derek approaching. Derek was certain the wolf was in his eyes as the man pulled away from Stiles, who saw the man’s expression and turned to face the werewolf behind him.

“Can I cut in?” Derek asked, ignoring the stranger now and focusing solely on Stiles as he offered him the bottle of cider.

Whatever concern Derek had that Stiles had not really been interested in him faded as Stiles’ smile broadened as he accepted the bottle. “Thanks! I was just telling Danny I was waiting for someone.” Stiles gestured over his shoulder to the stranger, but the man had already faded back into the pulsing crowd. Stiles was practically shouting to be heard over the music, this close to the speakers. “What took you so long?”

Derek stepped closer, chest brushing against Stiles’ as he leaned in instead of shouting. “I didn’t even know Scott had a basement. Took a little bit to find.”

Stiles laughed and took a long drag from his drink, downing half the bottle before setting it on the nearest table. He reached for Derek, winding his arms around Derek’s neck and pulling their bodies tight and close, just a breath between them. His voice was gravel rough as his breath tickled Derek’s ear. “Can I have my prize now?”

“I thought you wanted the drink as a prize.”

Stiles shook his head. “Shouldn’t a prize be something rare or beautiful or exciting? Maybe all of the above?”

Derek nodded, his hands ghosting across Stiles’ waist. “Sure. So what do you want?”

“I want to dance with the big, bad wolf.”

Oh, so that’s what he was after. Derek let his teeth lengthen and his eyes glow, giving Stiles a feral grin. “But you seem to have lost your hoodie, and wolves are dangerous. He might lead you astray. Aren’t you afraid?”

“You don’t scare me, big guy.” Stiles gave Derek a hungry grin as he pulled him further into the dancing crowd. His eyes glittered with mischief, but his heartbeat stayed strong and steady. He wasn’t lying.

Derek pursued him into the crush of bodies. His dual nature gave him a general athleticism that made it easy for him to excel at almost any sport, but he had never taken to dancing in the same way. Regardless, he could move with the beat and he had no intention of leaving Stiles side or watching him dance with someone else. The energy from the other dancers around them was infectious, and Derek didn’t even try to resist. His attention was riveted on Stiles as he closed his eyes and let his body begin to shift and roll with the music. The heavy beat settled into Derek’s bones, urging him to follow suit. The throbbing bass demanded movement, expression, release.

Their faces were bathed in alternating colors under the blinking Christmas lights – red, green, yellow. They shifted against each other, pulling back and pressing closer – purple, blue, red. Stiles revolved in Derek’s arms, swaying back to chest, and Derek buried his nose in Stiles’ hair. He inhaled the scents of Stiles’ soap and shampoo, his aftershave and deodorant, even the detergent he used to wash his clothes. Underneath it all was the scent of Stiles himself, filling Derek’s nose with the scent of sweetened ozone, almost like burnt marshmallows. Derek was intoxicated by the sweetness of his sweat and the cinnamon bite of his arousal. It combined with Derek’s own scent to create a heady cocktail that both soothed Derek’s wolf and drove it wild, desperate to lick and bite and mark and claim and own.

Stiles’ hands covered Derek’s as they slid from his hips, along the exposed strip of skin above his jeans, then up, teasing fingertips drifting under the hem of his shirt and across his stomach. He leaned his head back against Derek’s shoulder and time stretched like taffy as Derek’s wolf salivated at the sight of Stiles’ exposed throat. Derek groaned and brushed his cheek down the pale of column of Stiles’ neck. The scrape of his stubble made Stiles gasp and shiver in his arms.

His senses were overwhelmed by Stiles, by his scent and the feeling of his nails raking through Derek’s hair, by the sound of his ragged breaths as Derek nipped at his neck, worrying the skin with his teeth, by the taste of his sweat on Derek’s lips and tongue. He had never been so entranced by someone he had just met, someone he had no attachment to. Derek was distantly aware of the songs changing, one bleeding into another and another, in the same way that he was aware of Stiles ass grinding back against his hardening cock. He could tell by Stiles’ dirty smirk that he could feel exactly what kind of effect the teasing friction had on the werewolf, but Derek was in no rush, content to revel in the sensation of drowning in this beautiful stranger.

Time passed in fits and starts as they moved together, the contours of their bodies fitting like puzzle pieces and the tension between them growing with each blink of the lights. Stiles reached his breaking point first, twisting to face Derek with a whine and pressing their foreheads together, eyes locked on Derek’s lips, shameless as they breathed the same air. Derek pulled his body flush and slid one leg forward, aligning their hips as their inner thighs brushed. Between one heartbeat and the next, Stiles’ lips crashed into his and he lost all awareness of the world around them. Everything boiled down to the searing heat of Stiles’ mouth, the slick wet slide of their tongues, the electric sting of a tooth catching on a lip.

They kissed for long minutes, until Derek forced himself to pull back, panting, his hand gripping Stiles’ jaw. His thumb brushed unbidden across the other man’s kiss-swollen mouth and he was unable to look away as Stiles chased after it, his tongue swiping across his lower lip. As the lust fog thinned, Derek realized Stiles’ hands were fisted in his shirt and he was grinding his cock against Derek’s thigh with helpless little thrusts.

“Come on,” Derek growled. “I live a few blocks away. Let’s get out of here.” 

“I thought you’d never ask,” Stiles answered with a lecherous grin. He grabbed his hoodie off a table near the door as Derek tugged him up the stairs and out of the house.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy this! There's a chance I may write a follow-up that raises the rating, but I can't make any promises. Definitely let me know in the comments if that's something you'd like to see. You can find me on [tumblr ](http://i-can-do-badass-all-by-myself.tumblr.com/)if you want!


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